


Trilateral Symmetry

by MissCricket



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M, Multi, Seduction, Threesome - M/M/M, Wooing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grey Warden's want Anders to return to Amaranthine, </p><p>Nathaniel wants Anders, Anders wants Fenris, Fenris won't admit he wants Anders, Anders wants Nathaniel, Nathaniel wants Fenris and Fenris kind of wants Nathaniel.</p><p>But somehow it's never that simple.</p><p>Threesome relationship Anders/Fenris/Nathaniel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt on the Kinkmeme
> 
> "Nathaniel Howe and Anders reunite (it can be during the Act III quest or earlier, whatever you prefer), and it becomes immediately apparent to everyone present that the two of them once had a thing. 
> 
> Fenris surprises everyone, himself included, by getting jealous and extremely territorial, because venhedis, if the mage is going to bed someone dark and broody, it's going to be him."

"He’s in Kirkwall.”

Warden Commander, Hero and King of Fereldan Aruthan Cousland looked up from his piles of paperwork as a file was slapped down on his desk. One fair eyebrow arched as he reached out, scooping up the file and glanced up at the two Wardens standing before his desk, before he bent his head to read it.

Sigrun had an expression of vague triumph on her face, smoky green eyes glittering as she watched him read. Her mouth was twisted up into a pleased smirk, one hand reaching out to prop her against the dark oak desk of the Warden Commander.

Her companion however was a study of contrasts.

Nathaniel Howe’s face was impassive, but his body was held tensely and his arms were folded across his chest. He radiated intense, supressed energy and his dark eyes bored into Aruthan, a stare under which a lesser man might have squirmed like a bug on a needle.

“You found him..?” The Commander asked, tracing a finger over the rough sketch of his missing Warden held within the File. “Kirkwall you said. Are you sure it’s him?”

“Completely.” Nathaniel’s voice held no hint of any misgivings, and beside him Sigrun nodded, “I have friends in the Free Marches, from when I was squiring there. One of them tipped me off about his location.”

“And you are sure of this source’s…integrity?” Aruthan questioned, leaning back in his chair and pursing his lips, “I don’t doubt your skills Nathaniel, I’m only asking because it’s a long way to go to drag an errant apostate Warden home. Especially if it causes a diplomatic incident.”

“I thought Kirkwall and Fereldan had a solid working relationship. They did a few years ago…” Nathaniel frowned, a tiny shift in his posture the only hint of his unease, “Why would there be a diplomatic incident?”

“Kirkwall was one of the most heavily hit cities by Fereldan refugees fleeing the Blight.” Aruthan ran a hand through his fair hair, “We put out a call for them to come home, incentives, but many have not. It fostered a lot of resentment.”

"Politics…” Sigrun sighed, flailing her hands, “This is Anders we’re talking about. And Justice…And you know Anders. He’s not exactly the best at staying out of trouble.”

“Sigrun is right…” Nathaniel agreed, “Anders has no brain to mouth filter. I don’t know how much Justice would have changed that, but he is incapable of staying away from dangerous things. And that city is /crawling/ with Templars. And they aren’t like the Fereldan Templars. Kirkwall Templars are….well their Commander believes all Mages are evil, and sees corruption everywhere. If she gets her hands on him…”

“You aren’t exactly the most impartial of people on this matter Nathaniel.” Aruthan said, but he was gentle with the words. He knew how close Nate and Anders had been before the battle, lovers, comrades and friends. He knew how potent a combination that was.

Pushing aside the familiar pang at the thought of the past, The Commander groaned and rubbed his face, “We have to go don’t we.”

“Yep!” Sigrun nodded firmly, “Although I do have a suggestion…”

“I’m listening….”

“Nathaniel and I go first, go in stealthy like, find Anders and test the waters. You follow with the others and with all the political hoopla. I’m sure your wife will be only too keen to make sure you do all the diplomacy that is needed for Kirkwall while you’re there on Warden Business.”

“She will,” the King agreed glumly, “And you’re right, it will take a while to get things sorted well enough here for me to go at all. Do I have to go at all? Maybe you and Nathaniel will be enough to bring him home…”

“We are talking about Anders right?” Sigrun quipped, “The Anders who escaped from the Circle, seven times? The Anders who disappeared out of the Grey Wardens, taking down Templars and soldiers as he went? Are you mental?”

“Right, right…stupid question, I get it.” Aruthan waved a hand, “Alright so you and Nathaniel will set sail for Kirkwall within a week, and lay the groundwork. No mention of me arriving after you… And then we’ll bring him back and lock him up until he sees reason.”

“Agreed.” Sigrun nodded, “Grey Warden’s are family. You don’t run away from family.”

“I’d better send to Denerim for missives or instructions from Anora.” Aruthan mused, “I’m sure she’ll want me to court the Viscount to improve the relationship between Kirkwall and Fereldan again. She won’t be able to come, not in her condition.” His face softened slightly at the thought of the Queen and their unborn child, before a thought occurred to him“Oh Maker, I’m going to have to go to parties and balls and all kinds of other foolish gatherings aren’t I…?” As Sigrun laughed and even Nathaniel cracked a small smile, Aruthan thumped his head down on the desk, “Anders had better be worth it.”

~*~

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a gusty, high pitched sigh.

It was too much to hope for, he thought, rubbing the skin with his fingers, too much to hope that by the time he opened his eyes Hawke, Varric and that damn elf would have all vanished. Now that would have been a spell he would have been eager to learn as an apprentice, along with making ones’ self disappear as well. Perhaps not at the same time of course but the concept was definitely...

“Aaaanders,” Hawke singsonged at him with a smirk in his voice, “Aaaaanders...”

“I think you broke him.” Varric responded, “I’m impressed Hawke, you barely got started on the story.”

“It’s a gift,” Hawke smirked more, Anders knew it, “Who knew that he was such a prude...?”

The Healer opened his eyes in time to catch sight of the man and dwarf exchanging their ridiculous ‘brofist’ gesture. It made him roll his eyes, even as his gaze slid past them towards the elf standing a few paces away.

For a moment he thought he saw a flicker of discomfort across the usually frowning face, the green eyes watching him, but the next moment he had to conclude he was seeing things. Fenris was looking away, determinedly ignoring everything going on a few paces to his right.

Anders took the moment to run his eyes over the slender shape of the warrior, the long legs, the strong arms, the proud profile, soft silvery white hair, and dark brows arched over forest green eyes. It really was a shame that the elf hated Mages so much, because Anders had a real tendency to find that whole brooding facade extremely alluring.

Still he flicked his gaze away a heartbeat later, in time to catch Hawke’s eyes as he turned back from Varric.

“You haven’t broken me and I’m not a prude. Look what do you want? I’m a Healer, Hawke, I’m busy.”

“So it doesn’t bother you to hear about my sexual conquests?” Hawke smirked, “Good to know.”

“They’re hardly conquests Hawke. Jethann is a whore after all. Not exactly conquesting in hostile territory there.”

“Point to Blondie.” Varric acknowelged, “C’mon Hawke you’re going to let him get away with that?”

“You are such an enabler Varric,” Hawke drawled back, winking down at the dwarf, “I knew there was a reason I pined for you.”

“Now now Hawke...don’t make Bianca get all jealous.”

“Fine, I’ll just try and seduce Anders here...what about it Anders? Steer those magical fingers my way...?” and the rogue gave the most outrageous wink that the Mage had ever seen.

“If we are quite finished.” Fenris finally spoke up with a bite to his voice, “Perhaps we can do what we came here for, rather than waste time.”

“Alright Broody, keep your patterned panties on.” Varric said, turning to the elf with a grin, “You gotta relax sometimes...”

His only answer was a dark look.

Varric held up his hands in surrender.

“My mistake. So...Hawke, show Blondie your rash .”

Fenris made a choked sound.

“A rash...” Anders huffed a sigh, “Oh Hawke just who have you been shagging?”

“Don’t ask him that Mage!” Fenris snapped as Hawke let out a wicked chuckle.

“Shut up Fenris.” Hawke grinned at the Healer Mage, “Well Anders, since you asked...”

“Vanhedis...”

“...Seneschal Bran was very attentive...”

“And that’s all I need to know.” Anders said, holding his hands up and ignoring Fenris and Varric’s muttered ‘Thank the Maker.’ “Come on Hawke, let’s go...”

As the rogue and Mage disappeared behind one of the screens Varric shook his head causing Fenris to glance at him quizzically, “He’s the bravest man I know, and yet...”

“What?” The elf arched his eyebrow.

“...The rash wasn’t the reason we came.”

“Then why did we come?” 

“There are a pair of rogues down at the Docks who are asking questions about Blondie.”

The green eyes sharpened, and a chill crept into the air, a hint of restrained violence as Fenris focused intently on Varric.

“Rogues asking about the Mage?” he growled lowly, “Who are they? Why are they asking about him?”

Varric looked surprised, “Two Fereldan rogues...I’m finding out more about them.”

Fenris watched the silhouette of the Mage and Hawke behind the screens, “Do that”


	2. Chapter 2

It was almost impossible to see the stars in Lowtown.

Not that Nathaniel was laying there, gazing up at the stars or anything like that. He liked to leave that emotional, deep and sensitive stuff for others to deal with. Others meaning Aruthan...since none of his other Warden family members were exactly the sensitive types. 

Sigrun preferred to keep her life positive and perky, dealing in horribly inappropriate jokes, which made you laugh for sheer discomfort, and endless foot in mouth jokes. Velanna was as cold as those ice spells she loved so much, although all of them knew that most of it was insecurity and an inability to laugh at oneself that really held her back. She’d stopped setting their hairs on fire when she was teased, which Aruthan had counted as ‘acceptable progress’.

Anders of course had been incapable of staying serious enough to think about having a sensitive moment, and while Nathaniel had enjoyed the terrible jokes and the awful flirting, a part of him had wished that Anders would get real once in a while. It seemed he had gotten his wish, since Anders had joined with the Spirit of Justice, who had had absolutely no sense of humour at all.

And then there was Oghren who only got emotional when he was unable to go to the bathroom.

Safer not to think about that.

Nathaniel was not star gazing, rather he was waiting on the roof of one of Lowtown’s flat roofed houses, looking out over the cityscape and down at the doorway to the Hanged Man pub. His informant had informed him that Anders would be there that evening with his new friends. 

“You gonna be okay grump?” Sigrun’s voice was soft from beside him, and he turned his head to look at the dwarf. She was watching him, those smoky green eyes glittering in the shifting torchlight that flickered up from below, and her expression held such understanding and concern that the gruff dismissal died on his lips.

Out of everyone in the Wardens since Anders had left, Nathaniel felt the closest to Sigrun. He and Velanna enjoyed sharpening their verbal blades on one another, but there was no real empathy there. Whereas Sigrun, she understood heart wounds and the scars they left. When he shut her out, she didn’t leave his side, she didn’t condemn him from retreating to try and patch up the cracks that kept fracturing his inner psyche.

Aruthan in that respect, for all he was an excellent warrior and fine leader, couldn’t understand about the bruises of a bitter childhood. His early life at Highever had been something Nathaniel had always envied, and the holidays when the Howe’s had travelled to the Couslands had always been the happiest. It was that past that made it so hard and also so easy for Aruthan and he to move past the Highever Massacre.

He was not his father, and Aruthan understood that. But the night that the youngest Cousland’s childhood ended, had left its own heart scars. 

However...no matter how deep the wounds of that night, and the months that had followed as the grieving young man tried to unite a Kingdom against a Blight, no matter the burdens of leadership, the pain of losing loved ones and balancing the needs of the many, Aruthan’s hurts were too different from Nathaniel’s.

The difference from a sharp blade stabbing into the soft flesh of the side, the fiery agony of a deep gut slashing injury. to a dull edged knife, rusted with age and regret, slowly opening up long cuts across a body. Nothing life threatening, but that dull throb of constant pain.

Sigrun understood that.

“What if he’s not Anders anymore?” He said softly, knowing she would hear, “What if Justice has changed him so that nothing of the old Anders is there....it would...it would be like losing him again.”

The other rogue shifted closer and rested a hand on his arm, “We all change Nathaniel...no matter how much we love how things are, or how they were...people change, grow, adapt. Even if he is different...Anders is still in there...and you loved him for a reason...”

“...it’s been so long I can’t even remember why that would be the case...”

“Don’t give me that you great fraud.” Sigrun grinned, a quick flash of gleaming teeth, “You pined for him.”

“I did not pine. I may have been a bit reserved but I certainly did not pine...”

“You pined. Like a pine tree.”

The archer flicked some dirt at her and smiled slightly.

“It would be impossible to pine for Anders...one would have to forget all his annoying qualities.”

“Yeah you tell yourself that Grumpy.”

The moment was broken by the sudden increase in noise as the door to the pub swung open. Instantly Nathaniel and Sigrun focused intently down into the dusty street, the archer sucking in a sharp breath as one of the doorway torches gleamed across silky fair hair.

The group standing down in the street was perhaps one of the most motley bunches that Nathaniel had ever seen. Mind you he had never seen the party that Aruthan had mustered together during the Blight. By the stories though it took the cake, although this one was definitely a contender.

There was a dwarf without a beard and with a tunic exposing his hairy chest and carrying a massive crossbow like contraption. 

There was a woman with dark skin and golden eyes, not wearing any kind of discernible pants. 

There was an elf woman with the tattoos of a Dalish, giggling at a stain on her tunic. 

There was a man with golden skin and blue eyes, wearing white armour and the face of Andraste on his crotch. 

There was a woman wearing more armour than most men could, including Nathaniel, and bearing the most ginger hair he'd ever seen. 

There was a man with dark hair and blue eyes who was spinning two daggers in his hands. 

There was an elf with white hair and tattoos that, if Nathaniel wasn’t thinking he was already seeing things, he would swear were glowing slightly, and a massive sword on his back. 

And there was Anders.

Anders who looked older, more tired, more mature. His hair was shorter and tied half in half out of a small pony tail. His clothes were practical and didn’t scream Mage from the rooftops, and they were worn and well used. But he was Anders, Anders who was smiling and joking with the blue eyed rogue, Anders who was there...right there.

“There he is...” Sigrun whispered, her eyes not on Anders but on Nathaniel’s face, “Ready to admit you pined yet?”

~*~

After the reeking atmosphere of the Hanged Man, the night air was deliciously cool on Fenris’ skin.

Isabella and Merrill had their arms draped around one anothers shoulders, the Rivaini’s dark head bent to whisper something, probably corrupting, into the younger woman’s ears. Varric was chuckling as he tried to explain one of his stories to Aveline, ignoring her stunned expression as he detailed a pivotal scene. The Mage was talking with Hawke, Hawke who was idly spinning his daggers in his hands, as he was wont to do when his hands needed something to do.

For a brief moment Fenris allowed himself the small luxury of looking at the Mage, admiring the laughter in the honey eyes, and the softness of the fair hair, before he looked away once more with a scowl.

A hand landed on his shoulder and the elf jumped, twisting to look at who it was with a soft hiss of displeasure. The fingers immediately retracted and Fenris looked up into Sebastian’s gentle face. The Prince looked concerned, but it was an expression Fenris had long been used to. 

Sebastian Vael found Fenris’ turbulent relationship with the possessed apostate Mage a troubling one, and had made no secret of sharing his fears with his friend. At first he had believed Fenris’ insistence that he hated the Mage, much like all the others still did. But when Fenris had reacted violently to even the suggestion of handing Anders over to the Templars, and the way that the two kept baiting one another...Sebastian believed there was more to it than that.

Fenris thought he had lost his mind.

Not wanting to hear yet another installment of Sebastian’s crazy theories, Fenris scowled at his friend and stalked off after the others, hunching his shoulders moodily. 

It was ridiculous of Sebastian to think that he harboured any feelings towards that Abomination other than pure loathing. Anders was the encapsulation of everything Fenris hated about Magic. Except for his seemingly sincere dislike of Blood Magic. And the fact that he healed the sick in that stupid Clinic of his. There had to be some nefarious reason, Fenris was sure.

He would just have to observe him closely and find it.

Pleased by his resolution, and feeling much less dirty for observing the Mage so closely, Fenris turned his attention back to his surroundings and felt the familiar prickle of unease trickling down his neck.

“We’re being watched.”

Sebastian, walking silently beside him, looked at him sharply, “Are you sure? I can’t see anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean they are not there...” Fenris’ green eyes flicked left and right, seeing no one but being unable to shake the sensation. The Prince watched him for another second and then whistled softly.

Hawke, immediately turned back and strode over to them.

In the end it was probably this that saved his life, and the others with him as the sword that suddenly appeared out of the shadows, slashed down into the space where Hawke would have been.

Roars rang out of the shadows and the raiders that they had been heading to find suddenly materialised in the dusty street around them. 

The next few minutes were a bloody mess as most skirmishes were, and as always Fenris later remembered small fragments of time in the middle of the battle.

He remembered disemboweling a man about to plunge a rusty dagger into the back of Sebastian’s skull. He remembered seeing Isabella fade into the shadows, only to reappear behind Aveline, guarding the woman’s flank. He remembered Merril being pushed back towards the wall, staff a blur as she tried to keep two men back before Varric and Bianca killed one.

He remembered finding himself back to back with the Mage, sword and staff flashing in the shifting light as they slaughtered their enemies, turning slowly like a carousel of death. 

He remembered the heat of Anders at his back, the trust in that moment that the Mage would not fail him. He remembered seeing Anders staff get trapped under a Raider’s axe and seeing the dagger plunging for the mans throat. He remembered feeling sluggish, trying to move fast enough to stop the blade or get Anders out of the way and knowing even as he did that he would never be fast enough.

He remembered the arrow slicing out of the darkness above, taking the man in the eye. He remembered hearing a new battle cry from a female throat, and he remembered looking up to see the silhouette of a man standing on a rooftop, painted in relief by the orange clouds that drifted in the sky from the Foundry district, bow in his hand as he shot down Raider after Raider.

And he remembered hearing Anders voice.

“Nathaniel...”

 

Silence fell as the last of the Raiders was killed, and then a voice drifted out of the shadows, 

“That was a jolly fight!” A female dwarf emerged, the owner of the battle cry he had heard earlier he supposed, wiping one of her twin blades on the tunic of one of their fallen opponents, “Haven’t had a good skirmish like that in far too long.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty little savage.” A male voice answered while Hawke gaped at her in surprise, and suddenly a figure dropped from the nearest low roof to land almost silently beside her, “We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill us immediately with the way you’re acting.”

“Sigrun! Nate!” Anders seemed to have found his voice, sounding strangled even as he moved foward, “Andraste’s great flaming arsecheeks.” Sebastian winced, “What the bloody flaming tits are you both doing here?”

“Now Anders...” The dwarf, Sigrun Fenris guessed, grinned as she moved forward to wrap her arms around the Mage’s waist in a large hug, “Is that any way to greet your family.”

“Family?” Hawke asked, eyebrow steadily inching up towards his hairline, “Anders...what’s going on?”

“Pardon our rudeness serrah.” Nathaniel interrupted smoothly, “I am Nathaniel, and this is Sigrun. We are Grey Wardens under the command of Aruthan, Commander of the Grey in Fereldan.”

“Wardens?” Varric asked, interestedly, inching closer, “Here?”

“We had hoped to introduce ourselves, more civilly.” Nathaniel admitted, eyes never leaving Anders face, “But when we saw you were under attack...”

“You can let go of me now Sigrun,” Anders drawled, looking down at his dwarven friend, “I need to greet Nathaniel too.”

“Oh of course...” The dwarf winked, in a way that made Fenris bristle instinctively, “Please don’t stop on my account.”

“Sigrun...” the man, Nathaniel, growled at her as he moved forward, dark eyes on Anders face, “She has been an utter pain Anders. Ever since you left she’s been utterly insufferable.”

“And he’s been unbearably broody.” Sigrun retorted, “Jiust kiss him already...”

“Oh I like her!” Isabella beamed, winking at the dwarf, “Kissing is always encouraged.”

“No it is not!” Fenris objected crossly, growling at her, “Some of us don’t need that visual.”

“They talk as though we are not here...” Anders sighed, and Fenris was disconcerted to see a warm, tender smile on the Mage’s face, “Nathaniel...”

“Sod them...” The elf heard the man whisper before he was kissing Anders, a deep passionate, claiming kiss that had everyone wolf whistling and applauding laughingly.

Everyone except Fenris...who watched the scene unfolding before him with wide green eyes and an expression reminiscent of a kicked puppy.

So absorbed was he in his distress that he didn’t notice Sebastian’s concerned gaze and the dwarf woman watching him curiously.

Fenris didn’t notice anything as he stared at the two men kissing, feeling as though he had lost something precious he hadn’t even known he wanted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smutty stuff in this chapter :D Nathaniel decides to convince Anders the fun way.

“So tell me about the glowing elf,” Nathaniel’s teeth lightly grazed Anders neck, dragging across the skin and sending shivers rippling through the Mage, “He seemed most put out about Sigrun and I joining you.”

“Fenris?” Anders chuckled breathlessly, leaning back against Nathaniel’s warm solid back, “He’s always put out. Was probably disappointed that you didn’t let that Raider slit my throat.”

Nathaniel considered, feathering soft kisses along the curved column of Anders neck as he did so, delighting in the soft catches of breath as he brushed his lips against the sensitive spots he so intimately remembered. 

They were in Nathaniel’s small rented room in the Hanged Man pub. It was a temporary accommodation, as Aruthan had provided them funds enough to rent a proper mansion in Hightown in preparation for the King to join them. He would look into it in the morning, and Aveline had suggested speaking to Seneschal Bran to which Varric had agreed, telling him to mention his name and Hawke’s. Apparently it would help in getting a good deal.

For now though Nathaniel was in this poky room in the most filthy establishment he had ever seen. It was worth it though, because although the bed was hard and uncomfortable he was leaning back against a wall and had the Mage he had missed so much sitting between his legs, back against his chest.

Which brought him back to the topic of the elf. At first Nathaniel hadn’t really noticed him, being much more interested in Anders and his safety. Then he had been accosted by the mans’ more robust companions; the sensual Isabella, the cunning Varric and the undeniably charming Garrett Hawke. He could appreciate the Rivaini pirate’s beauty and the roguish Fereldan’s physical appeal, but they had been gorgeous in that...obvious way that had never really appealed to Nathaniel.

He liked his lovers interesting and exotic, with quirks to their appearances, not just charismatic for the sake of it.

Which is why, when he had gotten a good look at the elf who had been fighting beside Anders he had been intrigued. He’d seen the elf glowing during battle, but the reaction when he’d enquired about magic had been almost excessive in its vehemence. And the sword that had been strapped to his back hadn’t been there for decoration even though it was almost longer than the elf was tall. Not only that, his hair was the same silvery shade as those tattoos, a sharp contrast to the intelligent green eyes and the sharp dark brows.

“Disappointed about me saving you?” Nathaniel smirked, gently biting on a particularly tender spot and smirking at the breathy sound that emerged from the Mage, “I highly doubt that.”

“You don’t know Fenris....” Anders twisted slightly, looking up and back at Nathaniel, “He hates me, hates all Mages...”

“Hates Mages?” Nathaniel’s eyebrow quirked, “What did you do Anders?”

“Why do you automatically assume it was me!” Anders sounded miffed, and sat up, much to Nathaniel’s disappointment, “No Fenris hated Mages long before I met him.”

“Why?” The archer drew a knee up to rest his arm on it, “Why would he hate magic...? He seems to use something similar...”

Anders barked out a laugh and snickered, “Oh Maker please don’t tell him that! Fenris was a slave in the Tevinter Imperium...to a Magister named Danarius. Those tattoos on his body...they’re Lyrium...burned into his skin...”

“Lyrium...!” Nathaniel’s eyes widened, “Makers breath, Lyrium? But that’s....”

“Pretty damn toxic yeah.” Anders nodded, “I get the feeling that Fenris wasn’t the first to recieve the markings but he was the first to survive. It wiped his memories....leaving him completely in a Blood Mage’s thrall...he’s a bit sensitive about it.”

“Ironic...” Nathaniel murmured, and then at Anders questioning expression he continued, “That elf's in love with you Anders...”

Anders laughing fit lasted far too long for Nathaniel’s liking. And even when they had curled up next to one another, still fully clothed, to sleep, he could hear the occasional snicker from the man.

But Nathaniel didn’t.

He remembered the expression on Fenris’ face when he pulled back from Anders lips. He remembered the heat in which the elf had snarled at the mage. He remembered the expression in those green eyes when he and Anders had left.

He wasn’t wrong...he was sure about that.

But for some reason he didn’t feel threatened.

There was attraction there, between Fenris and Anders, even if neither of them would admit it...but even though he knew it...the bitter jealousy, the burning possessive nature didn’t rise.

It wasn’t until his mind supplied the image of the slender body, the soft lips, and the flashing eyes that he understood and had to bury his head into Anders hair to muffle the laughter so as not to wake him.

He wanted the elf...Maker help him... He had waited and longed for Anders, pined for his lover if Sigrun was to be believed, and now he had him...sleeping beside him.

He wanted an elf as well.

Well...

Balls.

~*~

It was a quiet week by Hawke’s usually high paced standards, but he, like all of the others, had been distracted by the arrival of the two Wardens into their number, something for which Anders found himself grateful.

Having Sigrun and Nathaniel around made him realise that no matter how much he bitched about the Deep Roads and giving up Ser Pounce-A-Lot, he really had missed being a Warden. Not the hopelessly tainted by the Darkspawn part, but the part where he had had a home, something like a family for the first time in his life. He had been happy there, and although he had tried to forget that feeling, seeing Sigrun’s cheeky grin and Nathaniel’s intent hazel eyes brought it all burning back.

He and Sigrun had always gotten along well, the pair of them sensing kinship as irreverent spirits; people who had never accepted the cards life had dealt them, either by being a Mage or by being a Duster. Although sometimes their teasing had hit each other almost too close to home, they had always understood one another. To him Sigrun was almost like the little sister he’d never had, annoying, insistent, annoyingly insistent, troublesome, intuitive and always there when he’d really needed someone. 

And then there was Nathaniel.

The rogue had always appealed to him, with his intelligent eyes, intense air and swift grace. He was the embodiment of Anders’ favourite type of man; deep, clever and broody and he had made no secret of his interest, flirting outrageously at every opportunity he could get. The drawled responses and ruffled feathers had only inflamed his interest, not to mention the way his voice curled over his name. Anders. No one said it quite like Nathaniel did, in a way that sent shivers flickering down his spine.

And he hadn’t even got into the tall, strong but slender physique, the rough callused hands, and the way the archer had always made him feel safe, protected. 

Not to mention that the sight of him standing in the centre of the training courts, shirtless, bow bending effortlessly in his hands as he sighted down an arrow to a target, was mind blowingly hot. 

He stood there, perfectly still for a long moment, the string taut in his hands, those intense hazel green eyes focused on the target, every muscle defined and beautiful in the warm Kirkwall sun, before he loosed, the arrow flying true to pierce the wood with a satisfying thock. 

Anders let out a shaky breath.

Aveline had allowed them all the use of one of the Guards training courts for the day. It was an assigned rest day for the majority of the men and women who protected Kirkwall, with only a skeleton crew of ‘volunteers’ on duty. So no one needed the courts, and Hawke had asked to use one for him and his companions.

So there they all were gathered around in the sun, Sigrun and Isabella duelling nearby, hurling the sauciest insults they could think of as they fought, much to the hilarity of their spectators. Anders could see Varric jotting down notes with his feather quill, grinning as he watched the Rivain Pirate and the Warden Duster fight.

For all the amusement over their insults, Anders had to admit that both women were impressive. It was like a choreographed dance, both of them stepping together, blades rising and falling in a perfect tempo, metal crashing in harmony. He saw Hawke was nearby, watching it closely, and even though he egged on the salacious insults, his blue eyes were sharp as he watched them move, the daggers in his own hands winking in the sunlight.

Aveline had been sparring with Merrill, teaching the little elf about fending off a heavier armoured attacker, and also brushing up on her own skills at facing a Mage combatant. Fenris stood with them, those sharp green eyes picking up the smallest flaw which he would then pass on to the warrior or Mage. It turned out for all his verbal diatribes against magic; he would help the two Mages of their party avoid dying on a Warriors blade. But he would definitely help the others in techniques for facing rogue Mages. 

And then there was Nathaniel and the Prince of Starkhaven over by the targets.

It turned out that the pair had known each other for years, since long before Nathaniel had returned to Fereldan. One of Nathaniel’s first years in the Free Marches had been in the white city of Starkhaven, and being a noble of blue blood, he had been invited to the Vael estates. It amused Anders to think of a young solemn Nathaniel, with shorter inky black hair and hazel eyes and a young Sebastian Vael, who had by all accounts been a bit of a wild child.

“He was a terrible influence,” Nathaniel had informed him, smirking as Sebastian rolled his eyes, “Always trying to get us into terrible trouble.”

“I always was there to get you out again though wasn’t I?” Sebastian smiled, and Anders was shocked by the warmth and openness of it, “Those were good months. A good year.”

It was hard to imagine a wicked little Sebastian, but it made Anders feel a little regretful that the younger him had not met this kindred spirit.

Today though the two had been practicing their Archery. And where Sebastian was all perfect technique and classical style, Nathaniel was rougher, but no less accurate with his arrows. The Howe had trained as a ranger, whereas the Prince had grown up with stationary targets and arms masters who had rapped weak arms or cores with their bows.

A shift in the sound from behind him and Anders turned to look at the duel, just in time to see Sigrun dart under one of Isabella’s strikes to knock her down and press her dagger to her throat with a brilliant grin.

“Yarr...”

Hawke and Varric laughed and clapped, Aveline smiled and Nathaniel glanced over with a smirk.

“You’re getting rusty Sigrun, time was...”

“Shut up Grump!” 

“Come on Fenris,” Hawke walked over and slung an arm around the elf’s shoulders, ignoring the prickly hunching the action provoked, “Let’s show them a real fight...”

“Better clear out of the way for this one,” Aveline noted, heading for the stairs that led up to the observation balcony that ringed the entire court from above, “Neither of those two know about holding back.”

“I resent that.” Hawke called after her, chuckling as he moved away from the scowling elf to settle into a battle crouch.

“You mean you resemble that.” Sigrun corrected, helping up Isabella and walking up the stairs to the balcony, Sebastian, Merrill, Nathaniel and Anders close behind.

“That’s what I said!” Hawke called back cheekily, “You aren’t married are you? I think I love you.”

“Sorry Hawke, I like my men charming.”

“Oooooh.” Came the chorus from the peanut gallery followed by laughter as Hawke pressed a mock hurt hand to his heart.

“My lady Sigrun, you wound me...”

“I’m going to wound you if you don’t pay attention Hawke, “ Fenris’ voice floated up to the balcony, making Anders smile and the others laugh harder, “You said you wanted to spar.”

“You need to find someone to release that sexual frustration on Fenris.” Hawke drawled, turning back to his companion, “Begin.”

The two moved into life, circling one another to shouts of encouragement from above. Everyone had spread out along the balcony, choosing their observation place. Anders moved down to the far end, knowing it would give him a long ways view of the court, and...if the fight stayed the way it did, an unimpeded view of Fenris’ arse flexing in those tight leggings.

As he stood there, watching he felt Nathaniel slide up slightly to the side and beside him.

“He’s beautiful isn’t he.” The archer murmured in the Mage’s ear, lips ghosting over a spot on his neck that always made Anders knees tremble, “I’ve never seen his like.”

“Hawke? He’s a one of a kind...” Anders felt his breath catch in his chest as he felt Nathaniel chuckle, the deep sound rolling over him like thunder on a thick, hot summers day.

“You don’t want Hawke,” the voice purred in his ear as Anders watched Fenris dart through the air, slashing his sword, “He’s not what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?” his voice sounded more breathless than he would like, especially when Nathaniel chuckled again.

“I know you Anders. You love a man who argues with you, who doesn’t give in to the first sign of acceptance.” Hot breath fanned over his shoulder, “You want him.”

“Fenris...”

“Yes...Fenris.” Nathaniel purred the name, making Anders fingers clutch at the stone of the wall, “Look at him Anders, look at that lithe body. Imagine those green eyes hot with lust on yours, you’ve seen him passionately angry, now imagine him just passionate.”

Anders head was spinning, body beginning to burn with the hunger that only arousal could bring, and his eyes remained fixed on the fight below, on Fenris moving with that sensuous grace.

“Maker...”

“Imagine him stalking you through a bedchamber,” the words seeped into his very bones, melting them as he clung to the wall. “You say he hates mages; say that he hates mages in power. Well then Anders he wouldn’t allow you any power at all would he. He’d push you onto the bed and crawl over you, all those long limbs, that Lyrium. It sings to you doesn’t it Anders...”

“Nate...” his focus has narrowed to Fenris circling Hawke down below, his blood thrumming with the beat of the swords clashing.

“Imagine him growling your name,” Nathaniel’s arms curled around Anders waist, one hand dropping to slowly rub the Mage through his robes, “Imagine him wanton, flushed lips, dark eyes. Imagine him arching underneath you. Imagine him straddling you, riding you.”

A bolt of liquid hot pleasure shot through Anders and he felt his breath, his very being, hitch, “Fuck...”

“Imagine you arguing, and him slamming you against a wall, shutting you up with a kiss. Imagine swapping your positions, pinning him between you and the wall, those long legs wrapping around your waist. Look at him Anders...Imagine him moaning your name....Anders...”

And he growled the name as he squeezed him through the robes.

The thought of Fenris’ voice saying it, those green eyes on his face, Lyrium glowing...Anders felt his body shudder, his head falling back against Nathaniel’s shoulder as he surrendered to the feeling.

“Nate...” he gasped, feeling himself falling over the edge.

“I’ve got you sweetheart.”

The archer rubbed him through it and then gently pressed a kiss to his neck, a soft soothing kiss that grounded Anders as his mind scrabbled to try and piece together his world again since it had flown apart so spectacularly. 

“You aren’t...?” 

“Jealous...?” Nathaniel smirked against his neck, “Not at all Anders. Look at him.”

“If we did...” Maker why was he saying this, why was he considering it? “It wouldn’t be a meaningless thing...Nathaniel he’s not...”

“Not something to be toyed with.” The nobleman nodded, “I don’t know him as well as you Anders. But...I’m interested...if you are...”

Anders looked down at the training court again and his eyes met Fenris’ green ones. The elf was standing there in the centre of the sandy area, with Hawke flat on his back, disarmed, but his intense eyes were fixed on Anders and Nathaniel high up on the balcony.

His chest was rising and falling with exertion, breath panting and sweat gleaming on the expanse of ivory skin. The Lyrium seemed to burn in the light, and his hair almost akin to glowing. But his eyes, those green eyes, those were what made Anders shiver.

His gaze pinned them there, a small frown on his face before Anders smiled. Confusion flickered across his expression before he turned away, kicking one of Hawke’s blades back over towards him.

Watching the elf stalk away Anders chuckled dazedly, “Oh I’m interested.”


End file.
